


Fire Starter

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Canon Compliant, Castiel is a Sweetheart, Castiel is a Winchester, Castiel's Handprint, Dean In Love, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Dean, M/M, Sexual Content, Tattooed Dean, Tattoos, Yeah He Actually Says It In The Text It's Cute, some - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:52:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7724077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What's this?" he asks, reaching under Dean’s sweater to feel the gauze pad covering his shoulder blade. </p><p>Dean chokes back a nervous laugh, "Last hunt went a little sideways… literally."</p><p>Bad choice of words, because Cas starts peeling off Dean’s long sleeve. Dean’s breath hitches like the first time Cas did this, but not entirely from the thrill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire Starter

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this picture (art????), which, if this doesn’t scream Dean, I don’t know what does: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/81/88/10/818810bb478faa2891b26ca1ff174d83.jpg 
> 
> I, of course, had to add the handprint.
> 
> Title and lyrics inspired by Demi Lovato's "Fire Starter".

 

_There's an S under my clothes_

_On my chest where nobody else can see_

_I light up when the doors are closed_

_I am free, yeah_

 

It's not something he's thought about until his father's sweet tooth for vengeance consumed their lives like the fire that consumed his mother's body. Even then, with demons stalking every public corner, from the city bus to the grocers to the restroom at a roadside gas station, tattoos were strictly for added protection. And, after two fuckups with a soul to each their names unlocked Devil's Gate, it wasn't an option.

Although, carrying out a hunter's lifestyle, there are some things that can't be avoided, things more permanent than a tattoo. Things Castiel, a certified angel of the Lord, can rid from his body, but not Dean's mind because he _knows_ they're still there: Every poke, claw, scratch, shot and scar on Dean's body. On his upper back is the scar from Metatron's blade just before he died, telling his brother he was proud of them.

Then there's his left shoulder, where the demon Meg dug her fingers, and, worst of all, may she rot in literal Hell, manipulated Sam's puppy-dog smile. His bicep, where Dr. Robert's assistant, Abby Sciuto in the flesh, pried his vein open just before he took a temporary siesta.

His hand is another benefactor to his early onset insanity. It didn’t have any physical lacerations, but it did lead a lot of people, good people, to their early graves.

Despite all this, Dean has to live with his body. And the only way to make it easier involves paying a few visits to his local tattoo parlor.

He hasn't told Cas about the piece. Cas, the guy who rebuilt his body after thirty years of deathless torture. It would destroy him. And Cas doesn't deserve to be destroyed. Not again. Not anymore. Especially now that they've finally found peace with their feelings for each other. Never has someone meant so much to him since picking up Sam at Stanford. Never has he—selfishly, yes, but deservedly so—been so in love with someone.

"Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean rinses the last of his toothpaste in the sink with warm water before stepping out of the bathroom. Self-care, it’s something he hasn’t done until he met Cas. "Yeah, why do you ask?"

"Well, you've been wearing long sleeves a lot lately,” Cas remarks, leaning on his side to face Dean.

Dean smiles shrugging off his pants, mainly because of the concern etched across Cas’s face. "We're the Winchesters, Cas, we load down on layers. It’s part of the Family Business Constitution.”

"... And we haven't had sex in a little over a week,” he adds. “I'm not complaining, I'm a celestial being, I have no primal need for it, but that can't be good for you."

A laugh bubbles on Dean's lips. He crawls into bed with Cas until aligning with the tanned plain of his vessel. "My cock is fine, dude," he reassures, tongue acting as balm swiping over Cas's chapped lips.

Cas leans into his embrace despite the groan that slips his mouth, which sends all sorts of signals to Dean's fully functioning organ, "Don't 'dude' me while your tongue is journeying down my throat, Dean Winchester. Remember who dragged you out of Hell."

They continue like this, lips lazily greeting and departing, hands traveling without destination, thighs pressed against each other. It’s nothing heated, not after the Wendigo he and Sam bagged in Port Angeles the night prior, and certainly not after his last session at the parlor today. (It’s a challenge trying to explain to your tattoo artist why you’re a little more, um, roughed up, than last you came in. If he’s still got the story straight, Dean’s an up and coming boxer from Leavenworth with a penchant for pain.)

That is, until Dean bucks a little too hard into Cas’s groin, then Cas’s hands aren’t surfing his back, but rather clinging like a cowboy on a rodeo bull. Dean bites back a whimper, which causes Cas great concern.

“What's this?" he asks, reaching under Dean’s sweater to feel the gauze pad covering his shoulder blade.

Dean chokes back a nervous laugh, "Last hunt went a little sideways… literally."

Bad choice of words, because Cas starts peeling off Dean’s long sleeve. Dean’s breath hitches like the first time Cas did this, but not entirely from the thrill.

Cas searches Dean’s eyes upon noticing the gauze traveling over Dean’s shoulder as well before the tape crinkles under his fingers and Dean’s exposed before him. Everything is there, the ‘ _This too shall pass’_  etched on his forearm, the red stenciled ‘ _FAMILY’_ on the inside of his bicep, the bubbly red handprint _on_ his bicep, the Superman logo next to his elbow (because Sammy deserves the Batman title after Dean rushed him to the ER on his handlebars that one Halloween), and the dark ripples stringing everything together. Over his back, which is still a little bloody, is a Spartan helmet next to an eagle with its wings outspread.

Cas’s mouth goes slack at the sight of him—the _new_ him. Not a good sign.

"I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure what you'd think,” he defends lamely.

“Dean, I…” Cas takes a moment to catch his breath too, “I love it."

Dean feels the butterflies in his stomach beeline for his throat. He _won’t_ let them sting, though. Under no circumstance will he let that fire consume the best of him.

Even though it totally does. Dean’s throat burns and a sob breaks through. "Really?"

"Yes,” Cas replies with such finality that nearly sends Dean’s emotions flooding out his eyes. “Tattoos are a form of self-expression. And you, Dean, have exquisite taste," he says, fingers wandering before fixating on the Superman logo. He traces the S, leaving small, but noticeable goosebumps on Dean's arm in his wake.  “Besides, even if I didn't like them, it's your body. You do with it as you please."

"It doesn't bother you, though?” Dean asks with what composure he still has left. With Cas ghosting over the new handprint and gathering some blood on his index finger, it’s a mystery how he even has any. “You know, since you put me back together?"

Cas drops his head, a gummy smile spreading across his cheeks. “Dean, you remember who we are, right? You, me, and Sam? What we stand for?”

Dean smiles too, though it’s much more timid. “A dropout with six bucks to his name, an ex-blood junkie…”

“Team Free Will.”

Dean nods with a sniffle. “Although,” he adds, finally allowing himself human contact in the form of running his calloused digits up and underneath Cas’s hand-me-down ACDC shirt. Luckily, it’s faded and loose—much like Dean’s stalwart attempts at being a “real” man. Concealing emotion, fear, pain, sadness… love. “I highly doubt certain parts of you are comatose at the moment.”

Cas denies his mouth a smile by biting his lip until Dean’s fingers brush his right nipple, then move down and across to his ass to pull him forward. Cas is clad in only a pair of white boxers, but even that seems too far away. Dean blushes, remembering when too much was Cas intruding a few more inches of his personal space than necessary. Now distance, clothes, Cas’s _growl_ as he pulls Dean in by the nape of his neck and knocks their hardnesses together like two cherries on the same stem, those things are the enemy.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, if that, against his neck as Dean smothers him with haste kisses along his own, “can we do this? Your sleeve, and your back, is it…?”

“Healed?” Dean pants. He uses his uninked hand to bring Cas’s to rest on his upper back. “Absolutely not. But that’s okay. Let it burn. I have room for a few more tattoos.”

 

_I might look all in innocent_

_But the embers are burning inside of me_

_And I'm ready to take that step_

_Can't you see, can't you see_

 

  

 


End file.
